


OPIA

by opacus



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opacus/pseuds/opacus
Summary: Harry’s coquettish grin, his dripping curls and soaked jacket. Dale takes it all in as Harry crosses the little bit of distance between them, one hand coming to rest on Dale’s knee, the other on his cheek. Dale exhales. In the dark interior of the car, their own personal space, he anticipates the thumb smoothing down his face, tugging at his bottom lip. Harry stares holes through him, and Dale shivers despite himself.“A kiss?” A bit closer now, feeling the words spoken to his trembling mouth. “I can do just that.”





	OPIA

**Author's Note:**

> Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. 
> 
> Also I've only watched like, 2 episodes of this shit and wanted to write for it forgive me.

“A deer?”

 

It’s a deer. A stag to be more exact. 12 point, lying dead in the middle of the road. The legs are broken to all hell, eyes black and lifeless where Harry shines the flashlight onto them. It’s raining out and Dale didn’t bring a jacket. He’s soaking in his suit, Harry asking him to lend a hand in moving the deer out of the way so people coming down the road can get through. Dale begrudgingly agrees. Moving dead deer from a back road in Washington state was not what he envisioned when he was sent up to Twin Peaks. Thankfully they brought gloves before heading down. 

 

“Damn thing’s heavy,” Dale says, picking up the dear near its bottom, Harry grabbing the top half. Together they haul it towards the side of the road, tucking it neatly in the grass until a collector can come to take it away. Dale looks at it one more time, it’s body bent badly out of shape. They don’t know who or what hit it, but it did a good number. 

 

“It’ll start bloating here soon,” Harry says.  “Once that happens, you don’t want to be near that thing. You poke it the wrong way, it’ll pop. Smelliest thing you’ll ever have the luck of being near. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson a couple times.”

 

“More than once?”

 

“First time was out of curiosity. I was a dumb teen, and we found the thing under a bridge while walking around. One of us kicked at it. Second time was an accident.” Harry carefully peels off his gloves, Dale following his lead. “I've got a bag in the back for these so we can trash em’.”

 

“Please,” Dale says, following Harry to the the back of his car. Harry opens the hatch, revealing a half-full black trash bag. They discard of the dirty gloves and close it. 

 

A flash of lightning lights up the sky through the trees. Dale watches it illuminate Harry in white-blue light, his eyes meeting Dale’s for a brief second. He’s fleeting, a ghost in the night. The rain comes down harder. They’re drenched now, Dale’s jacket clinging to his skin. They both make way back to the car. It’s warmer in here, the heater oozing out hot air. Dale leans his head back against the headrest, watching the rain come down. Another flash of lightning, the low rumble of thunder. Dale closes his eyes and listens. 

 

“I think we should wait this out,” Harry’s voice comes out low, hushed. “Don’t wanna risk driving in this mess at night.”

 

“Okay,” Dale says, opening his eyes. His jacket is wet and uncomfortable. He sits up a little. “Mind if I take this off?”

 

“Be my guest.”

 

Dale slips off his dress jacket. He stares at it, then at Harry. Harry points to the back seat. “Just throw it back there.”

 

Dale does. He looks back outside, where the headlights try to shine their way through the downpour. It’s not letting up. Dale wonders how long they’ll be stuck here. 

 

Harry reaches for the radio, trying to flip through the stations. Most of them come up static, a few garbled words filtering through. He eventually lands on a country station and turns the volume low. Twangy guitar filters through the speakers. They’re gonna be stuck a while.

 

“Wish I had some coffee,” Dale mumbles, his head filled with the memory of the heady aroma of a midnight black brew. He smiles to himself, sinking back into the seat. Harry hums, possibly in agreement, most likely in acknowledgement. Dale looks over at Harry, sees him staring outside. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts, Sheriff.”

 

Harry blinks. He looks over. “Oh. It’s nothing. Personal stuff.”

 

“I’m no therapist, but I can try and empathize. If you want to talk that is.”

 

Harry laughs. “No need for that, Coop. I’m fine.”

 

Dale shrugs. In the low light, Harry is pale, shaking from the cold. Dale reaches a hand over the console and rests it upon Harry’s shivering shoulders. 

 

“You’re gonna get sick if you keep that jacket on.”

 

“I’ve fared worse.”

 

Dale furrows his brow. “Hey,” he says, leaning over the console, a hand turning Harry’s head to face him. His cheek is ice cold, lips trembling. “You’re freezing.”

 

“I’ll take the jacket off if that’s what you want.”

 

“I do.”

 

Harry unzips his jacket and discards it in the back along with Dale’s. Dale smoothes a hand down Harry’s arm, sees how he shivers and leans into the touch.

 

“You’re warm.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry closes his eyes, let’s Dale run his hand down the wrinkled sleeve of his damp shirt. “Feels nice.”

 

Dale looks on at Harry. He seems so exhausted. He probably hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Harry opens his eyes again, staring down Dale from beneath his lashes. They’re long, the kind women would kill to have. Dale swallows, squeezing his fingers gently around Harry’s wrist. 

 

Cramped in the front of Harry’s Ford Bronco, Dale finds it suddenly difficult to talk. The rain patters against the windows, the sparse lighting from outside illuminating half of Harry’s face in a tender white glow. His hair is still dripping from their venture outside. Harry is smiling at him, soft and completely vulnerable. The country station is still playing, grainy voices and crackling guitars.

 

“Harry, I-” Dale, as articulate as he usually is, finds himself unable to form anything of substance. He laughs, embarrassed by his inability to speak.

 

“Cat got your tongue?” Harry says, and his smile grows wider, endlessly charmed by Dale’s antics. 

 

Dale bites his lip. “I believe so, I just-”

 

“You just what?”

 

“Ah, I don’t know. Can’t seem to verbalize myself very well at the moment.”

 

Harry reaches for Dale’s hand, squeezing his fingers. The silence is heavy. Harry’s eyes are heavier, weighing Dale down. He feels small beneath his gaze. Dale opens his mouth, then closes it again, parsing what to say. 

 

He finally gets something out. “I’m confused.”

 

“About?”

 

“You,” Dale confesses meekly. “I’m confused about you.”

 

Harry’s brow quirks up. “Me?”

 

“Yes. I don’t know how to read this thing between us. I’m perplexed.”

 

“I’m not that complicated, Coop. You think too much.”

 

“So how should I take this?” Dale looks pointedly at their intertwined fingers, the little bit of space between them. 

 

“However you want.”

 

Dale laughs, a sound that flutters in his throat. “Can I ask something of you then?”

 

“Always.”

 

“Would a kiss complicate this any?”

 

Harry’s coquettish grin, his dripping curls and ruffled uniform. Dale takes it all in as Harry crosses the little bit of distance between them, one hand coming to rest on Dale’s knee, the other on his cheek. Dale exhales. In the dark interior of the car, their own personal space, he anticipates the thumb smoothing down his face, tugging at his bottom lip. Harry stares holes through him, and Dale shivers despite himself. 

 

“A kiss?” A bit closer now, feeling the words spoken to his trembling mouth. “I can do just that.”

 

Harry leans forward the last bit, Dale sighing just as their lips make contact, Harry squeezing his knee. Dale lets himself be pulled in. He gasps as Harry bites his lip, hands now wandering to the damp strands of his hair. Dale is overwhelmed, drowning in it. A tongue in his mouth, fingers working at the buttons of his dress shirt. Harry wastes no time in getting at what he wants. 

 

“Let’s take this to the back,” Harry says, and Dale nods. Together, they hop out of the car and back into the rain for a brief moment, pushing forward the front seats so they can crawl in behind them, closing the doors again. In the back, Dale lets himself be pushed against the window, spreading his legs to accommodate Harry between them. Their jackets are discarded onto the floor, pooled at their feet as they shift around, hands wandering on each other’s bodies, mouths marking up where they can. 

 

Harry pauses, his hand slipping inside Dale’s undone shirt, cold against his flushed chest. “Coop, what are we…” He trails off. 

 

Dale swallows, his hand coming up to cover Harry’s. His heart is racing. “I don’t know.”

 

“I want to-” Harry stops himself there, his other hand pushing up Dale’s inner thigh, ghosting dangerously close to his crotch. Dale understands. 

 

“Okay,” he says, watching Harry as he slides his hand down Dale’s chest, resting just below his navel, the dark patch of hair there. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

“I’ve got stuff in my jacket.”

 

“Go get it.”

 

Harry scrambles to find his jacket among Dale’s, eventually pulling it out and searching the pockets. He produces out a small bottle of lube and a condom. Dale doesn’t have time to wonder why Harry carries that on his person before he’s putting their supplies on the seat and tugging at the waistband of Dale’s pants. “Need these off.”

 

Dale wastes no time in getting his slacks off, quickly undoing his belt and maneuvering around the limited space they’re given. His pants end up on the floor with their jackets, underwear along with it. He’s left exposed under Harry’s scrutinizing gaze, in nothing but a undone dress shirt loosely draped over him. He feels like something straight out of a Playgirl magazine. He throws an arm over his face to hide it, but Harry pulls it away. 

 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Coop. You look good.”

 

“How should I feel then?”

 

“Sexy. Goddamn stunning.” Harry presses a kiss to the sharp line of Dale’s jaw, breath hot and raising a shiver along Dale’s spine. Dale lets out a shaking breath, drawing Harry’s face up so he can kiss him again.

 

Harry was right. Dale thinks far too much. He needs to let go, just relax for once. He needs to stop being FBI agent Dale Cooper and embrace the Dale Cooper in the back of this car, the Dale Cooper who’s crossing lines, kissing the sheriff of a small, sleepy Washington town. Harry is watching Dale intently. Dale breathes in through his mouth, exhales through his mouth. He’s so wound up, jumping when Harry rests a hand on his naked thigh. 

 

“Relax, Coop. It’s okay.”

 

Dale nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry murmurs, smoothing a hand down Dale’s leg, offering a timid smile. Dale wonders if Harry’s as nervous as he is. 

 

“We can take this slow,” Harry says. “No pressure.”

 

“No pressure,” Dale repeats. “Okay.”

 

It’s still raining out. Dale watches droplets stream down the glass behind Harry. Harry obscures his view with his face, closing in on Dale. Dale swallows as Harry asks, “Can I kiss you again?”

 

“Of course.”

 

It’s unhurried, a process in breaking down Dale inhibitions. Dale opens his mouth for Harry, yields beneath his tongue. He gasps at Harry’s wandering hands, digging into his hips, tracing the dip of his collarbones. Dale feels himself getting harder. 

 

Harry pulls away, a little bit of saliva trailing between them. Dale is flushed, though it’s almost indiscernible in the dim light. But he can feel it, his heated skin as he watches Harry grab the lube and drizzle a generous amount over his fingers, probably too much. 

 

“Are you okay with this?” Harry asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Dale says, feeling dizzy, high off it all. “Go ahead.”

 

His hand reaches down between them, Dale maintaining eye contact, bottom lip caught between his own teeth as Harry’s finger circle around Dale’s hole. Dale want this, needs it. 

 

“Please, Harry.” 

 

Harry eases him into it, two fingers. Dale sighs, closing his eyes. Harry slips in another, pushing them in and curling. A shudder wracks Dale’s body. Harry twists his wrist, thrusting up, and Dale jerks, his foot kicking out. The sound of too much lube and Dale’s panting fills the space between them. Dale can feel tears streaming down his cheeks, choking out a sob. 

 

“Hey, hey,” Harry says, a thumb reaching up to wipe at Dale’s tears. “It’s alright.”

 

“I know, it’s just- it’s good. It feels good.”

 

Harry laughs, relieving the tension. He kisses Dale, a quick peck on his mouth before pulling out his fingers. Dale laments the loss before Harry’s cock is up against him, pushing in slowly. Dale grips at the seat, nails digging in, ripping off fibers. He accidentally bites his tongue. 

 

“Fuck me,” Dale pleads, tasting the blood. “Just fuck me.”

 

The back seat is a smaller place than they both realized, shifting around to make the positioning work. It is not the ideal place for sex, but Dale is desperate and will take what he can get. Harry thrusts again. Dale whimpers and shakes, biting himself, biting Harry. 

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks. He's worried. He wants Dale to enjoy this. 

 

Dale gnaws on the skin of his knuckles. “I’m alright.”

 

It’s so goddamn hot in the car. Dale is sweating, hair sticking to his forehead, shirt sticking to his frame. It doesn’t help that Harry is trying to get as close to him as humanly possible. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but Dale isn’t preoccupied with that at the moment. Not when Harry is inside him, trying to fuck him through the seat, Dale’s head thrown back, neck straining. 

 

“Faster,” Dale pleads, because he’s insatiable, clamoring for it. 

 

Harry isn’t in the business of denying Dale what he wants. He does not hesitate. He thrusts inside Dale, filling him up, satisfying a carnal desire. Dale is whimpering, hanging onto Harry with a vice-like grip. His nails dig into exposed skin, drawing marks, red and puffy. They’re a tangle of limbs, Dale uttering obscene noises. If anyone were to pass by them now, they’d know exactly what was going on. 

 

They eventually find a rhythm that works. Dale is lost to the world, only caring about Harry, about how he feels inside him. It’s hot, fever-pitch. Dale Cooper is a flame flickering. He clings on. Spiraling, down, down, down until he’s laid up against the seat, taking everything Harry gives him. Dale’s whole world narrows down to this car, to Harry grasping at him, fucking into him, telling him, “You’re so goddamn gorgeous, Coop. So fucking hot like this.”

 

Dale is panting, grasping around in the dark to find Harry’s hand and hold on. He can feel the car rocking around them. His head is swimming, unable to land on any one coherent thought. “God, Harry-  _ oh _ .”

 

Dale gnashes his teeth when he comes, getting his semen on Harry’s shirt by accident. He doesn’t have time to apologize before Harry is following, hips stuttering to a halt. Dale is trying to catch his breath, but Harry is there, kissing him again. Dale laughs against his lips. 

 

“Wow,” Dale says once they seperate and he has enough room to talk. He’s speechless. 

 

“Yeah. Wow.”

 

Dale stares up at the ceiling, sees the pattern the rain covered glass paints above him. Harry pulls out, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash bag in the trunk. Dale tugs Harry back down, pressing their foreheads together. Breaths mingling, Dale stares into Harry’s eyes, an invasive action that has him sinking in deeper. They kiss again, long and drawn out, unable to get enough.

 

“I think it stopped raining,” Dale whispers, like the wrong word could shatter this bubble they’re in.

 

Harry looks out the window. The storm seems to have let up, only droplets left on the glass as evidence. He looks back at Dale. “I think I want to stay here with you a little longer.”

 

Dale smiles and closes his eyes. The radio fades out again. “Okay.” 


End file.
